


Old Fashioned

by BearHatter



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Female Harry Dresden, Genderswap, Harry's the white knight here btw, just to be clear, wizard traditions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24513391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BearHatter/pseuds/BearHatter
Summary: "Harry’s kind of.... Traditional. White knights, chivalry, not that she ever wants to be a damsel in distress, just sort of...”“Old fashioned,” John said dryly.
Relationships: Harry Dresden/Johnny Marcone
Comments: 16
Kudos: 179





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Till You Make It](https://archiveofourown.org/works/470089) by [lightgetsin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightgetsin/pseuds/lightgetsin). 



> The relationship is weak enough that I thought putting in an official link might be confusing, but parts of this are definitely inspired by "Till You Make It" by lightgetsin, one of my favorite fics for this fandom. Eh, you know what, I'll link to it anyway. I'd love any comments you throw my way.

John Marcone had never been one to find many people attractive, period. When he did, they tended to be highly competent, intelligent people, boundaries were very clear, and he never let emotion interfere with business. Very few women both caught and held John Marcone’s eye. 

Harriet Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, as always, proved to be an exception. In fact, it took him some time to realize he found her attractive at all--and even more time to reconcile that with her often staggering clumsiness. She could be like a bull in a china shop. But on the other hand, John could admit, when she was in her element, she was both very competent and very dangerous. It was why he’d first tried to recruit her, and no doubt the first cause of his attraction.

There was the small detail of her despising his organization with loudly declared repulsion, but that was... well, a small detail. If he was honest, at times her extreme contrariness was almost a draw--as he had attained more success, it was increasingly difficult to find anyone who would disagree with him, let alone constantly contradict him, and he found the push-back refreshing.

Then, one of the things John had always found most appealing about Harry Dresden was her fundamental unawareness of just how physically attractive she was. She had power and was not afraid to throw it around in every other aspect of her identity, but in this, she had a blind spot. Long, lean legs; dark, tousled hair; dark, striking eyes; exquisite, unique facial structure; and yet she seemed very unused to anyone  _ noticing _ any of that. 

Of course, few people would be able to safely appreciate her eyes. Marcone had already soul-gazed her, though, and found he relished being able to look her in the eye when few others dared. He also suspected that her power and her awareness of said power intimidated most of the men she met. It was something impossible to miss whenever you were with her. She was like a thundercloud sometimes, all electric energy, sharp movements, flashing eyes.

As long as it took him to realize his attraction to her, he might never have acted on it. It certainly wasn’t in his plans; he had no evidence it would be well received, and as rocky as their alliance was, it was valuable enough that he wouldn’t have risked it on an endeavor with little chance of success.

Thus, the first time John Marcone asked Harry Dresden on a date, it was somewhat a surprise to both of them. It was after yet another of the dramatic showdowns that Harry seemed to gravitate towards like a moth to flame; a group of cyclops, this time, who not only had bunkered down in Chicago but had taken to eating its residents.

By the end of the whole ordeal, they were both exhausted, and Harry was a little singed around the edges. John had gotten away with just a few cuts and bruises, but his bespoke jacket was a loss, and Hendricks’ arm was probably broken, though if anything he seemed smug about it.

Harry had bent over to get her staff, and he’d seen her ribs through her shirt, and John had remembered what he’d learned about magic: that the energy came straight from the wizard. And the invitation had almost leapt out of his mouth: “Would you like to get some dinner?”

Her reaction was almost comical: whirling around, double-taking as though unsure who he was talking to, and finally just squinting in suspicion. John kept his face free of both surprise and amusement only through the self-control he’d cultivated over years of seeming unflappable.

“Dinner,” Harry said in a voice that managed to be as flat as it was disbelieving.

John merely raised an eyebrow and stood his ground.

“Where?” Harry asked after a long moment, still suspicious.

Thoughts flashed like lightning through John’s head. “Maggiano’s,” he said without perceptible hesitation. A quiet Italian restaurant where he trusted the owners, where Harry wouldn’t be self-conscious about being seen, and where the food was more than good enough to make it worth her while.

“...Okay.” It sounded like Harry was almost bewildered by her own answer, but she didn’t take it back.

Dinner went uneventfully, and John made no unusual overtures; they conversed about shared experiences, about keeping their people safe, they traded familiar jabs, and nothing about it was really that different from their other interactions... except that  _ Harry had agreed to it.  _ And really, for her standards, was quite amenable--no fireballs, even.

The odds of a successful overture had gone way up, in Marcone’s view. And a civil refusal, though it made him slightly uncomfortable to imagine, seemed a bit more likely than the kind of blow up that would destroy their working relationship. And the benefits of a personal relationship...

John had never pined for romance. Far from it--he had seen how often unwise relationships tripped up even the most prudent of men and women in power, and he had no intention of putting himself at a disadvantage. He was not unfeeling, but he was practical, and for many years he had known that any serious relationship he could have would have to either be of a very unthreatening nature to rivals, kept under close wraps, or a powerful alliance of partners--and for many reasons, he knew he would prefer the latter option. He had expected to perhaps never find someone both worth pursuing and who he was attracted to, who could hold their own in the power struggles of Chicago. It wasn’t something that bothered him. But John Marcone was never one to ignore a one-in-a-million opportunity like the possibility of Harry Dresden.

His instinct was not to be too subtle: she might make incorrect assumptions about his motives, as she was oddly inclined to do where he was concerned. Of course, he didn’t want to shock her into a negative knee-jerk response, either. So John first focused on potential information sources, a comfortable pastime for him. And when one happened to fall in his lap just a week or so later, he made sure to use it to his advantage.

He made certain to keep eyes on most known supernatural entities in his city, and Hendricks knew his particular interest in... a particular few of them, so when Thomas Raith was arrested for public indecency, he heard within the hour.

“Public indecency?” John raised an eyebrow.

Hendricks looked uncomfortable. “In the alley by a gay club, seems like. Tried to invite the cop who confronted him into a threesome.” 

“How unfortunate for Mr. Raith that his seduction proved unsuccessful,” John murmured. “Send a partner from our firm.”

“You want him brought here when they get him out, boss?” Hendricks asked. 

John tilted his head. “Hmm... invite him, civilly. Don’t insist, if he refuses.” He suspected Raith to be loath to leave a potential debt unpaid. And Raith had known Dresden well for years now; there had been rumors, even, about the nature of their relationship. John didn’t feel threatened by it, but he felt... curious.

In no more than another couple of hours, he stood to welcome Thomas Raith to his office, though he declined to offer a handshake. “Mr. Raith, I appreciate your willingness to meet with me,” said John.

Thomas didn’t take the offered chair, so they both remained standing. “I guess I should thank you for sending your attack dogs to extricate me from the loving embrace of the CPD, but something tells me it wasn’t out of the kindness of your heart.” His arms were crossed.

It was odd; Marcone could still feel the brute physical attraction all white court vampires wielded, but it was more distant than usual. “I can have multiple motivations, and usually do, especially when helping sometime allies,” he replied smoothly, “But it’s true that I would appreciate a small favor in return.”

Thomas’ mouth quirked viciously, and he set his stance. “Okay, then,” he asked. “Ask your favor. Taking someone out? Seducing a rival mob boss?”

“No, actually,” said Marcone. He inhaled and turned to look at the generous view from his office windows. “It has come to my attention that you and Harry Dresden share a certain... friendship.”

“Uh huh,” said Raith, in as obnoxious a tone as possible, eyebrows twitching together.

John willed himself to patience. 

“I would consider your debt to me paid, if... you were to tell me, truthfully, what you think would make Harry happy in a relationship.”

Thomas Raith gave him a curious look--part knowing, part disturbed. “Hmm.” He seemed to weigh the favor and find it harmless. “Well, absolutely do not tell Harry I said anything, but... Harry’s kind of.... Traditional. White knights, chivalry,  _ not _ that she ever wants to be a damsel in distress, just sort of...”

“Old fashioned,” John said dryly. He’d noticed this trait, but never thought of it applied romantically.

Mr. Raith gave him a very small smile. “When you’d least expect it, yep. Uh, what else... she likes to eat, especially good food, but she rarely indulges herself. She’s touchy about getting help, so you have to be tactful about that. She’s a poor communicator but she likes validation. And she will do absolutely anything for the people she cares about, and therefore, if you hurt her, we will tear your throat out.” His tone was casual, light, but his eyes boring right into John’s were anything but. Marcone believed every word.

“Hm,” John said. “I believe you. I think that concludes our business.”

As Thomas slipped through the door soon shown to him, he called back: “Hey, Marcone! Not that I have much of a stake in it, but... good luck. With making her happy.”

John could have told him exactly what he thought luck had anything to do with anything in life, but when he turned the vampire had already slipped away with inhuman speed.

Harry Dresden. Old fashioned. Hm. It wouldn’t have been his first guess, to be honest; she threw around more pop culture references than any supernatural entity he’d yet met, acted as modern and mundane as if she was trying to make a point of it. But then, underneath she had always had the deep, natural instincts and values of a true wizard--that was something John had seen right away in their soul gaze, but only came to understand as he met more practitioners of the Art.

So Harry was contrary and complicated. What else was new? John shook a small smile off his face and focused on developing his next strategy--er, date plan. Food was good, he’d noticed that already. If the way to a wizard’s heart was through her stomach, John knew just the place to go. But he’d taken her to dinner once already... a change in place might be in order.

The train hummed under them, smoother than a car or boat, more grounded than a plane. As it left the outskirts of Chicago, John could feel that odd twin feeling of leaving his city--a little bit of relief from a gnawing sense of responsibility, and also a little emptiness where that feeling usually went.

Harry had been looking out the window, but now she turned from it to look at him. “Well, you’ve got me out of the city. What’ll it be now, concrete galoshes?”

John snorted. “Don’t tempt me, Ms Dresden.”

Hary shot him a quick look at that, which he didn’t fully understand. “I thought you said this was...” there was a moment of hesitation. “A date. Or, you know, something like that.”

John sat forward just a little in his chair. “It is.”

Harry looked back out the window, with a very slight blush on her cheeks that fascinated him. “Well, then I guess you’d better call me Harry.”

“Harriet?” John suggested, just the corner of his mouth ticking up.

“Absolutely not,” she responded vehemently. “Unless you want me throwing both of us off this train.”

“Harry, then,” John conceded. “After all, that would hardly make for a successful date.”

Harry looked at him thoughtfully. “And you want everything you do to be successful... John.”

John shrugged. “If a thing is worth doing, shouldn’t it be done successfully?”

Harry crossed her arms. “Like mob work, for example?”

Ah. No sugarcoating, here. Joh sat back and tried to choose his words carefully. Harry rarely gave him such a clear opprtunity to explain himself. “When the metric for success is... more order, less chaos, leading to less collateral damage to my city... yes.”

Harry just looked at him for a long moment, then sighed and uncrossed her arms. “Success meaning least possible collateral damage... yeah. I’ve been there. Don’t usually feel too successful, though.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Harry,” John told her gravely, meaning it. “I’ve often been... amazed, at just how much you’re able to shield those around you, even with no organization or planning to back you up.”

Harry laughed. “Meaning, I guess, that I should plan more instead of flying by the seat of my pants all the time.”

That wasn’t what John had meant, but he didn’t push it. They sat on the gently rocked train, and soon the train attendant came in with tea, coffee, and lady finger biscuits. Harry took her tea with milk and sugar, John made sure to notice. He took coffee with creamer for himself.

“Is that why you asked me out?”Harry asked, stirring the sugar into her tea. “Because I’m a good shield?”

John put his coffee down and looked at her. “It’s one thing I admire about you. But I asked you to go on a date with me because I find you smart, beautiful, powerful, and someone I’m attracted to. We’ve only ever really known each other in dire circumstances. I wanted to get to know you under less pressure.”

Harry's eyes were wider than usual.“Oh,” she said. John smiled slightly.

“Why did you say yes?” He asked. Turnabout was fair play, after all, and he relished seeing--ah, yes, there it was, the high flush coming up on Harry’s cheeks. It always came out when she was embarrassed, angry, or using excessive amounts of power. John could freely admit to himself how much he enjoyed causing it.

“Well, I--part of me was curious, I guess, of what it would be like to be on a date with  _ the  _ Gentleman Johnny Marcone, maybe. And, yeah, what you said, getting to know each other under less dangerous situations, seemed interesting, maybe. And I...” she took a deep sip of her tea like it was something else. “I find you attractive too. So. There’s that.” Next she fiddled with a biscuit. “I don’t know if I’m all that good outside of high-pressure situations, though, honestly. I--I tend to screw myself over if I have too much time to think about it.” Her eyes, which had been avoiding his for most of the train ride, finally, and ruefully, met his gaze.

“If the train ride is too quaint, I can always have some ninjas with tommy guns chase us along the top of the train,” John offered, and Harry laughed.

“No, no, this is fine. This is... nice, actually. Weirdly.” She gave him that challenging, side-eye smile.

“High praise,” John said dryly. But for Harry... it really was. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and John's relationship develops further--with the dubious help of a troll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a while, because Marcone's perspective is hard!! But I really wanted to finally get it out for my birthday today! I don't have a beta or anything, but I may go back and edit a little bit, so let me know if there's any glaring errors.

To say "the rest was history" might be factually correct after a certain point in time, but it would also be wildly misleading. Dating Harry was one of the most frustrating, surprising, gratifying things John had ever done. They had disagreements, they had professional run-ins, they had allies questioning their involvement--or at least John knew he did, and he would be very surprised if Harry hadn't been warned by at least the vampire, Thomas, and probably the Carpenters as well if they had heard anything about it.

So yes, there were many moments in the first couple weeks where it could have been easier not to try, to let the possibility fizzle out... but neither he nor Harry backed down. Still, there were times Marcone wasn't sure Harry was one hundred percent in, either. If John was forced to pick a moment where their relationship really progressed from casual to serious... it would probably have been the troll.

Marcone had been fighting the troll for about 15 minutes already when Dresden appeared on the scene. The troll had been causing rampant property destruction on Marcone's property, and he tended to take a personal interest when the supernatural affected his business. Or Chicago. Which really, was his business. He, Gaurd, Hendricks, and the part of his special task force that could be whipped up on short notice had harried the troll away from densely populated areas, and it was the middle of the night, which cut down on the possibility of bystander casualties. Still, fighting a troll was no picnic. There were more than a few injuries spread around.

Guard had entrapped the troll in a circle of her runic magic, and Hendricks and the team had damaged one of its knees enough to slow it down, when Dresden ran onto the scene from who knew where. "One of yours, Harry?" John inquired dryly, if loudly, to be heard over the incoherent roars of the monster. He didn't take his eyes off it for more than a second however--now that its leg was down, he thought he had a good chance at a headshot with his rifle.

"John _wait_ ," Dresden yelled back, clearly out of breath and not stopping as she sprinted towards him. " _Don't shoot!"_

John glanced at her again, brow furrowed. "Hold fire," he barked to his men, and took his finger off the rifle trigger, letting the barrel tilt up and away from the troll. "What's going on, Harry?"

She didn't answer, just slowed and came to a stop in front of the troll, starting to chant in the pseudo-latin she favored, taking gulps of air between phrases and also pulling a hunk of what looked like hair from her pocket and... a voodoo doll? Hendricks, also catching his breath, approached John, weapon still trained on the troll but carefully pointed away from Dresden. "What's goin' on, boss?"

"Don't know yet," John said succinctly. "Keep the thing at bay, but don't shoot; Dresden usually has a reason. Tell the others."

Hendricks nodded once, with a quirked eyebrow but no comment, and moved off, circling the troll to relay orders. John watched Dresden--and so did the troll. Its eyes were now fixed on Dresden and it was starting to sway, seemingly hypnotized, as Harry's chanting gradually increased in speed and volume.

Guard had made her way to John's side as well. "What can you tell me?" he asked her in a lowered voice, trying not to distract Dresden.

"It's difficult to say," she murmurs back in the same tone. It always was, with magic. "She seems to be undoing some kind of magic, or binding, maybe something connecting the troll to something or someone else. My rune circle won't last for much longer, though." She was beginning to look paler, showing the strain of the magic working.

John looked once between Dresden, Guard, and the troll. "Drop the barrier," he told Guard. "Save energy, in case whatever this is goes wrong. Whatever Dresden's doing seems to have the troll essentially immobilized for now, anyway." Guard nodded. The runes encircling the troll lost their fiery intensity, and some of the color came back into her face.

Just as Marcone was about to approach Dresden, her chanting seemed to come to a head, and she ended it with a sharp tone and gesture. The chunk of hair in her hand caught fire, but she didn't notice, and the fire didn't seem to burn her hand. The troll, which had gone silent from the beginning of the chanting, shook itself all over, and John tensed, ready to aim his rifle again. Harry flung out the arm not on fire in his direction, presumably as a symbol of restraint, though her eyes remained fixed on the troll. 

John put out his own arm in mirroring gesture to his people and held it, even as the troll started to move outside the circle it had previously been trapped in. It was making some querulous noises, but was far removed from the enraged force of nature they'd been dealing with before. Harry dusted off her hands briskly, brushing off ashes and putting out flame, and made another arcane gesture, pointing at a nearby wall. Something shifted, or shimmered. Then there was a portal there. The troll lumbered towards it placidly, not giving Marcone or any of his men a second glance, or even Harry, for that matter--just lumbered through the portal, which closed behind him.

There was a moment of not-quite-silence, filled with panting. 

All of a sudden John was aware that Harry was not cloaked in her usual leather duster; her button-down shirt was speckled with burn holes, and her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows. For some reason he kept looking at her hands--which so recently had handled fire as easily as others might handle a pen. Or easier. It was hard to see that much casually wielded power and not feel...something.

Of course, he was feeling some irritation as well, as Harry went and peered at the wall and the circle, not even turning around. She _would_ go charging into a battle scene, break it up, and feel no need for explanation. And then of course, he also had to feel some level of gratitude for her handling it, and without even causing rampant property destruction. It was quite the melange of feelings.

He waited, and in a few minutes Harry turned around. She blinked at him as if only now realizing he was there. He raised his eyebrows pointedly.

"Stars and stones, John, what are you doing here?" she said finally, walking to him.

"Yes, shocking that I might try to get involved when a troll assaults one of my business. And that you would go charging in while I have no idea what's going on." He tried to reign in his temper. The moon was full and very bright, and John could clearly see Harry’s face and the sharp rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, even without the much duller gleam of the street lights. “Are you all right?” he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Luckily, she didn't seem to be offended at his sarcasm. If anything, he would have called her tone distracted, but she wasn't looking at anything but him. "It was just kind of an evil fairy thing; the troll was bound against its will. It looked like you were doing okay before I got here, though."

"Hmm," said John, hardly mollified. "It might have been nice to hear your plan when you ran on the scene--if you had one for once."

Harry's jaw dropped slightly and she looked light she might protest, but then she dropped her chin and grinned. "Yeah, yeah." She walked towards him, tipping into his space. "Seemed to work out though, you listening to me," she said, conspiratorially.

He turned his head into her a little. She smelled like fire and clean sweat. "Maybe you could remember that, and try it when it's the other way around."

Harry laughed, a bright sharp sound that John had rarely heard. He found he'd like to hear it more often. "Maybe. If you're lucky." Her hands tucked into his coat, her arms circling his waist. John's irritation was fading, something else taking its place as picked up on her emotions. Her eyes were huge and dark. "I like that you let me handle it," she murmured in his ear, and she was tall enough that she only had to tip her head to kiss him.

Her mouth was hot and soft against his, and he felt his pulse quickening in his veins. That this woman, who could juggle fire without a thought, and had the power and compassion to send raging trolls through faerie portals, would be kissing him. Without conscious thought his hand was sliding into the back of her hair, and they were entwining even closer. Every point that her body touched his felt like fire, felt like magic. He barely registered Gard's discreet cough, only felt Harry pull back slightly, breaking the kiss without stepping away.

“Come home with me,” she said, and it wasn’t really a question.

John nodded anyway, just to be clear, and they went.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're curious, ask me about my head canon of what Harry Saw right after the troll left...
> 
> Also, the good news about this bit fighting me so hard is, the next chapter is mostly done and should be out soon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's where the 'inspired by' really starts to show

When John woke up the next morning, Harry was already awake, sitting cross-legged on the bed and fetchingly naked. She was turning something over in her hands, in the focused way she did when she was doing magic, or detective work, or, when he was lucky, him. He was sleepy enough to reach out for her without any caution, slinging an arm over her knee.

“You showered without me,” he murmured, mouthing his way up the outside of her thigh to her hip. Her skin was warm and just slightly damp.

“Yep,” said Harry, a little absent minded. John propped his chin on her knee and rolled his eyes when Harry petted his hair like a cat. The thing in her hands looked like a small dark strip of something, just barely glimmering with iridescence. Harry muttered over it a few times in the pseudo-latin she cast spells in. Nothing seemed to happen, to John’s eye, but Harry smiled slightly in satisfaction and looked away from it to kiss him good morning.

John gave as good as he got, before the position proved too contorting for both of them and he broke off to sit up. “Good morning,” he said, a little pointedly, when she turned right back to what she was holding. He wasn’t accustomed to being ignored in his own bed--but Harry did tend to constantly defy expectation.

It was her turn to roll her eyes. “Good morning to you. And don’t be jealous, this is actually...” she hesitated slightly in that baffling way she did when she wasn’t sure if she was stepping over some arbitrary line when none existed for her. “It’s for you.”

“Ah.” John pressed closer to peer at it, only slightly distracted by her naked proximity. Usually Harry _strongly_ objected to gift-giving of any kind, at least from him, so this must be fairly significant. It still looked only like a small flat woven length, ends still unfinished.

“It’s a... bracelet,” Harry said, with another, shorter hesitation that John found harder to read. Maybe self-conscious, a theory that seemed more likely as she went on to babble. “I made it. Obviously. You can have Gard look at it before you put it on, if you want. But I have to be the one who puts it on. It can fit under a watch or something when you go to meetings. Or...all the time--”

“Harry,” John interrupted, and wordlessly held out his wrist to her. He had never been one for wearing jewelry, but this seemed to be important to Harry. It was also, as she said, very low profile; and some small part of him greedily wanted something tying her to him. Even if she had trouble accepting gifts from him, the reverse did not need to be true.

The fabric was stiff but soft as it closed around his wrist, and Harry bent low over it, obscuring his view and muttering a little more under her breath. When she straightened up, the ends were simply woven into each other, with no visible end or beginning. It was also warmer than he’d expected; either from being in Harry’s hands for so long, or from.... Well, magic. No doubt there was magic involved: first because Harry was involved, but also because she had suggested he show it to Ms. Gard.

John could inspect it more closely now, but he still couldn’t really name all the shades of color nestled in the mostly black fabric. “Thank you, Harry,” he said softly, and greatly enjoyed the flush that bloomed on Harry’s face and.. other parts. He meant to ask more about what it was actually magically for, he really did, but well.... Harry could be very distracting.

And he found watching her do magic _very_... stimulating.

Two hours later, he was in the office, prepping for his meetings. They weren’t his favorite part of the business, but they were necessary, and as always, he endeavored to do them well. Unfortunately he had a meeting with Lara Raith scheduled for that morning: never something he looked forward to. She tended to draw them out with meaningless flirting and annoying innuendos, trying to distract him from the way the White Court constantly tested the boundaries of their business arrangements.

This time, at least, he’d managed to schedule the meeting in his own office, which leveled the playing field just a bit. But if it made Ms. Raith uncomfortable, she didn’t show it in the least as she strode in, hand outstretched, smile wide and dazzling. She was wearing a white skirt suit, the skirt considerably shorter than business appropriate. She wore sky high heels, making her taller than him. Marcone didn’t play those kinds of macho games, despite his often stereotyped role as mob boss--but Ms. Raith seemed to have taken the role to heart. She never stopped playing them.

“Ms. Raith, welcome,” John greeted her smoothly, taking her hand only long enough to shake and release. “So glad we could have this meeting.” Lie. He gestured her to a chair and sat behind his desk across from her.

“Oh, yes,” Ms. Raith said in a seductive tone, and crossed her legs. “I always enjoy crossing... swords with you, Mr. Marcone.” She laughed lowly, tipping her head just slightly to bare her throat.

John held back a sigh. He always found the innuendos so... well. Boring. He could feel what all her efforts did to his body; he was, after all, only a man, and she was a white vampire--but it fell far short of engaging his mind, and that made all the difference. Today even his body was hardly affected; perhaps because it had so recently been satisfied.

Either way, after only a few short pleasantries, John cut to the chase, gathering his few chosen papers from around his desk and setting out a map, previously marked with boundaries. They got down to the delicate business of rehashing them. They had been drawn already, agreed upon already, but all he had to do was hand over a few sheets of evidence to show they had not been respected.

Ms. Raith sighed, gently, as though she had just been denied a preferred drink; then her eyes caught and focused on the bracelet John had forgotten to wear a watch over. It had shown as John handed the papers over. “Ah,” she remarked, sounding somewhat surprised, maybe a little thwarted. “I hadn’t realized you and Ms. Dresden were quite so.... involved.”

John was far too experienced to blink. He merely tipped his head very slightly. “I try to keep my personal life separate from business,” he tried to hint back to the matter at hand.

“But Harry Dresden does have a penchant for breaking the rules,” Lara mused, deliberately misconstruing him. “I didn’t think she would be so old-fashioned.”

John hummed noncommittally and redirected their attention more determinedly to the map in front of them. He was never pleased to be made to feel ignorant, but whatever the bracelet meant, it had its upside: after seeing it, the vampiress totally abandoned the seductive banter and the meeting went fully an hour shorter than he had anticipated.

That kind of efficiency was highly satisfying, but didn’t distract him from the mystery Harry had apparently fastened onto his wrist. He called in Ms Gard for a consultation. When he showed her his wrist her eyebrows rose, but he saw no cause for alarm in her expression. “Hmm,” she said, “I didn’t know Ms Dresden was so traditional.”

John snorted. “You’re not the first to say so,” he said, as dryly as possible. “I was wondering what you could tell me about this particular tradition. Harry was less than forthcoming.”

Ms Gard didn’t ask any questions, which was one reason why she was well worth what he paid her. “It’s something usually called a ‘token,’ and dates back thousands of years. Most commonly gifted from a witch or wizard to a ‘promised one.’ What you might call a fiance, roughly. For a while in the Middle Ages it caught on even among some mundane. Wizards are slower to change their ways, but it still has largely died out in modernity.”

“Like a knight’s token. Hm.” The image struck John a little oddly, but not unpleasantly. “What about the magical ramifications? It certainly caught Ms Raith’s attention today.”

“Well, tokens can be personal to their givers, and the giver’s level of power, but usually include protection charms. Against poison, against treachery, and, ah, against seduction. Ms. Dresden has power to spare, so it’s quite possible the token would be a barrier to Ms Raith’s... talents. Certainly, it would warn her off if she saw it. In the eyes of most supernatural entities who see you wearing it, you are...”

“Claimed. Off limits,” John said.

“Essentially,” nodded Ms Gard, “Especially as you are without magic yourself.” She had never sugar-coated his status as a mundane.

“That could be useful in certain situations I suppose...” he mused. “Would it make me appear more weak to some?”

“Almost certainly not. It’s a strong alliance, and those able to read power signatures will be able to see Ms Dresden’s power levels, which are impressive. In fact,” she bent slightly to look at the band again, “I’m rather impressed with her work on this; her brand of power is usually bent less to delicate work, and more to raw--”

“--Explosions,” interjected John, the corner of his mouth tipping up.

“Yes,” said Ms Gard, smirking back. “Of course, entities seeing this existing alliance may draw their own conclusions about their chances of treating with you.”

“Yes, I understand,” said John. He was well versed in such politics. Just not always in the magical dialects, signs and symbols of alliances and dialogues. “Thank you, Ms Gard. Anything else I should know?”

“It’s likely that Dresden would be able to track you through it, as it traditionally contains a strand of her hair,” said Ms Gard, “And there’s some... anecdotal evidence that it would warn her if you were in mortal danger."

Hmm. The odds were low that Harry was enacting some dastardly plot, or worse, one of her hare-brained seat-of-the-pants adventures. But that she hadn’t told him any of this, particularly the tracking capabilities, was a bit worrying. “Thank you for the information, Ms Gard,” John nodded his thanks.

“Call me if you have more questions. And,” she smirked again, “Congratulations.”

John snorted. “We’re not engaged, to my knowledge."

Ms Gard shrugged. “Engaged, promised, however Wizard Dresden sees it... a token is a symbol. It only works with real intent, and she would know the meanings behind such things at least as well as I.” And she left the office with that for him to chew on. 


End file.
